


Not What Maintenance Closets Are For

by Zephrbabe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Closet Sex, Creampie, F/M, Quickies, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 21:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephrbabe/pseuds/Zephrbabe
Summary: Rumlow is about to leave on a mission, but Darcy wants a quickie.





	Not What Maintenance Closets Are For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ibelieveinturtles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/gifts).

> A prompt fill for D and noquirkyurl, for Promptkin Spice- Sinnamon ;)

"Damn, Lewis, how many layers you got on?" 

Rumlow rustled those layers, trying to burrow under everything covering her neck to find warm skin. His transport was leaving in fifteen, and he needed a dose of Lewis' brand of poison to tide him over his month-long assignment. He wanted to mark the creamy skin of her neck, indulge a little possessiveness, but she was wearing a coat, at least two sweaters, and a massive scarf, and he couldn't find any skin. 

Darcy pulled back from sucking her own mark onto his collarbone, where his team wouldn’t see it. "Don't worry about that. Get your fly open."

She'd dragged him into this smelly, dark maintenance closet in the quinjet hangar, and he'd followed with nothing more than the promise in her gap-toothed grin. It was with that same grin that she now flipped up the hem of her coat, pulled her pumpkin-print leggings and green panties down the curve of her ass, and bent just enough to give him access.

In the low light, the space between her legs was shadowed and out of sight, a mystery at the apex of smooth, pale thighs. Staring dumbfounded with his hands on his fly, Rumlow fumbled to get his dick out. If he hadn't been hard before, he could pound nails now. 

"Hurry up, Brock. It's cold out here." She waggled her ass, looking back at him over her shoulder. "I'm leaving in ten minutes whether you come or not."

He surged forward, gripped his dick long enough to aim into her slick cunt, and pushed all the way to the hilt. 

"Fuck," Darcy grunted. She was so hot inside, her walls trying to squeeze him out. Rumlow dragged his dick out almost all the way and shoved back in just to hear that surprised grunt again. God, that sound was going to haunt his sleep for the next four weeks.

Rumlow wrapped one arm around her waist and gripped her hip with the other. He was pressed all along her, from thigh to shoulder blade. Darcy might lead him by the dick, but once he got it inside her, Rumlow got to call the shots. He didn’t want her going anywhere until they’d both come.

She was so wet, he could feel how easy the glide as he started his stroke- fast and deep, just how she liked it. Darcy's cunt was fucking heaven, and didn't she know it. After all, Rumlow was in here, getting his balls drained next to a pile of mops instead of going over last-minute checks with his 2IC.

Darcy braced her arms on a grimy shelf and dropped her head forward until all he could see was the bright pom pom on her slouchy beanie. Rumlow increased the force of his thrusts. He wanted to make that bobble  _ bounce _ . 

He only had a handful of minutes to get her to come before she made good on her threat to leave him hanging. He had to pull out a few tricks.

Wrapped around her as he was, Rumlow slowed his pounding hips and shifted his arm to press a loose fist to the lowest part of her belly, above her mons. He exerted some inward pressure and Darcy moaned. Rumlow smirked into the back of her coat, picking up his pace again.

The hand on her hip dropped to find her clit, stiff and wet in the hair there. Darcy jerked in his arms- that damn bobble jumped, too- but Rumlow didn’t let up. He strummed her clit with the callus on his trigger finger as he rutted into her. 

Her legs started to shake, and Rumlow made sure to hold his pace and angle exactly, watching the bobble on her hat dance and listening to her suck in a breath and freeze.

“hUh- ah,  _ Brock _ \- fuck!” God, she was loud when she came. A maintenance closet wasn’t soundproof enough for this. 

One of her feet slipped out from under her, and Rumlow only had time to flatten his palm to steady her hips before she caught herself. 

He sped up, chasing his own orgasm. He was hilting into her so hard he could feel the bump of his cock against his hand. She was so  _ slick _ and her cunt kept twitching around him like she was still coming.

“Gonna come, Darce,” he warned. 

Her hand flew to his hip, nails curling sharply into his skin when he pulled back. 

“Inside me,” she ordered. 

Rumlow wasn’t exaggerating when he thought of Darcy as leading him around by the dick. His body did what  _ she _ wanted. Slamming the full length of his dick into her one last time, Rumlow buried his face in the back of her fuzzy scarf and came. His balls throbbed as he unloaded, hips jerking shallowly against her ass. 

Darcy hummed languidly, stroking what she could reach of his thigh as he came down, letting him gulp air and shiver through an aftershock.

They panted there together, their skin sticking with sweat despite the chill of the hangar. Rumlow realized they were each barely exposed to the outside air, having shoved their pants aside and leaving everything else in place.

When his dick softened enough to slip out of her cunt, Darcy was already pulling away and tugging up her leggings, hiding away the mess they’d made. She adjusted her beanie as she turned to him, dislodging his arms from around her waist.

Darcy pressed up onto her tip-toes and laid one on him. He tasted her berry lip balm but she was already pulling back with a long, lecherous perusal of his dishevelment.

“See you in a month,” she chirped. “Don’t die.” 

Darcy breezed out of the maintenance closet with that gap-toothed grin like his come wasn’t already seeping out of her.

Rumlow stuffed his dick back in his black BDUs and tried to catch his breath.

-

"You smell like pussy," Rollins groused, scowling at his checklist. Rollins wasn't jealous of Rumlow, he just didn't like pussy. 

The team was loading the last few cases of equipment onto the jet, well-organized and efficient.

"Yeah," Rumlow agreed cheerfully. Then he wiped the grin off his face, shrugged on his tactical vest, and got down to business.

**Author's Note:**

> Reader's choice whether Brock & Rollins are Hydra for this.


End file.
